


Lost Yesterdays

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Madame Bolishinko, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Relationship, Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly minted Black Widow isn't terribly pleased with working with the Asset. But perhaps there's a way she can use this to her advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Yesterdays

"The traitor must die," Ivan Petrovich Bezukov told Natalia Alianovna Romanova. The redheaded assassin was trained by the Red Room, fully polished and freshly recovered from graduation. She was the youngest Black Widow ever produced, brutally efficient and graceful. As her patron in the department, Bezukov hadn't been sure this would be a good mission for her, but he had been overruled. Again.

Natalia didn't ask what had been done to warrant being branded a traitor. She simply stared at him for a beat before asking "Mission parameters?" like the professional she already was.

He relaxed a fraction. Young as she was, Natalia was capable and confident. That was what he needed for this job, not someone flashy, overconfident or brash.

Andrei Nicholaevich Petrov had amassed quite a bit of wealth, hiding it from the USSR and then the Russian Federation. He thought being a member of the FSB protected him from oversight, which was obviously incorrect. The secrets he held that he thought kept him safe actually made him more dangerous. His enemies within the FSB were only too happy to see him taken down, his ill-gotten rubles used to further the cause of the government. Various experiments to try to defeat the West were expensive, after all, as was training different classes of Black Widows. The money was better used to defend and protect Mother Russia from itself and capitalist greed.

Petrov had succumbed to Western ideals, and was no longer fit to work within the FSB. He had to be eliminated in as spectacular fashion as possible, to show any other possible capitalists the course that greed would take them on.

"Can you do this?" Bezukov asked Natalia.

Her expression was stoic, not insulted by the subtle insinuation that she wasn't as talented as promised. "Of course, Comrade."

No false modesty to play to his ego. She was young, and the way she looked at him like every other seasoned killer was almost chilling. It would have been, if that wasn't what he needed.

She was truly perfect.

Bezukov smiled. "Don't disappoint us."

"Never," Natalia promised.

And she delivered.

Petrov's account numbers and passcodes were all delivered to her handler, and there were far more of them than Bezukov had thought. Petrov was strung up in his office at FSB headquarters, throat slit. An American flag was draped across his chest, knifed into place, and his dismembered genitalia had been placed into his mouth; space had been made with the removal of his tongue, which was held in place on the wall with a knife. Above it, written in Petrov's blood, was the word _traitor_ in English.

"Quite the splash," Bezukov told Madame Bolishinko.

Madame Bolishinko gave him a tight smile. "My girls are always prepared. I have even taken her off of nightly shackling. Natalia is ours completely, body and mind."

"You are certain of her loyalty?"

"Absolutely," Madame Bolishinko told him.

"Then I have need of her," Bezukov said, an oily smile on his face. "In the wake of Petrov's death, the FSB has need of filling that position. Accounts are in flux. Mother Russia has need of guidance in these troubled times."

"We do what we must," Madame Bolishinko replied with an incline of her head.

"Of course we do," Bezukov murmured, leaving her behind. He had to assess Petrov's potential successors, and which would be beneficial for his own cause.

***

Natalia wasn't sure if she should feel proud or insulted that she was set to work with the Winter Soldier. She had trained with him, of course, and had found it an honor at the time. There was no way to defeat him, not based on physical attributes or strength. Two other candidates before her hadn't realized that, the fools, and were broken in their pathetic attempts to break him. Natalia knew that strength wasn't the point of the task at hand, and used her smaller size and speed to duck the blows she could, and tried to minimize the damage from the blows that she couldn't. He didn't seem to care one way or another, and when she came in close, wasn't concerned at all. That allowed her to climb him like a tree, and she used her own body as a counterweight to bring him to the ground.

That had been enough to set her apart, and she had advanced to training with the Asset.

She was the best, she didn't need further training. Perhaps it was pride she shouldn't have felt, but that was the truth. Natalia had the blessing of all in charge of the Red Room, and she had run quite a number of solo missions before Bezukov had recruited her for the prior mission.

She had no visible response when told of the matchup. All she could do was nod and agree, the perfect cog in their machine, their scalpel blade to cut the cancerous traitors out of society.

"You will have a cover identity, of course. No need to put in an overlay for this," Bezukov told Natalia. "Because you will be wearing a public face, even if it is to be several years older than your current one, we'll need the Asset to work on other targets."

Natalia managed not to scowl. "I can do any job you ask of me."

"I know you can," Bezukov told her, smile slick and oily, suddenly appearing lecherous to a fault. "I would ask even more of you – personal, private tasks – but it would be a waste of your training and not part of the parameters of the mission."

"Of course."

"Time is of the essence. We need as many of these targets dead as possible. While you get a location, the Asset will eliminate them."

"It will be showy and messy."

Bezukov smiled, a chilling flash of teeth like a shark's. "We're counting on it."

***

The Asset had empty eyes and a flat expression when the muzzle and goggles were removed. She'd never seen those on him before, and never got an explanation from their superiors as to why they used them. He moved like a hunter stalking prey, the fluid human's movement behind the machine's directives.

Once they were alone, Natalia looked at him. There had been six handlers bringing him into the building, and now she was left seemingly alone with him. Another test? Or did they really think she had as much control over him as six men?

Face blank, the Asset stared at her. no recognition at all, which was more disconcerting than she wanted to admit.

"What is your name?" she demanded.

No answer. His blank stare didn't even change.

"I am Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she told him, ignoring the dread rolling down her spine. "By what name do they call you?"

"Asset," he replied in a voice gravelly from disuse. "Or Winter Soldier."

She frowned at him. "That is a title, as Black Widow is my title. You've earned your place in your department. I knew that already. You wouldn't have trained me two years ago if that was not the case."

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his features. "Two years ago," he echoed.

"Yes. In the Red Room." The uncertainty was still there in his features, and the dread down her spine refused to leave. "Don't you remember?"

He was deathly still. "You will not speak of such things," he snarled at her.

She had gone too far, then. "So what do I call you?"

His jaw ticked painfully. "Do not. No one else does."

"I am not like everyone else."

Something painful was in his gaze, almost like longing. Perhaps he had never wanted to be the Asset and now she was reminding him of that fact. Or perhaps he couldn't remember. Perhaps the vague whispers that they weren't the only ones made and remade were true. If he was wiped clean between missions, it would leave him soulless and empty. It would mean he truly was little more than a programmable machine.

Natalia doubted that anyone else outside command was aware of that. Maybe she could turn it to her advantage in some way after this mission. What a coup it would be for her if she had a hold on the Winter Soldier!

"Would you like a name?" she asked gently.

He reacted as if the words were a physical threat. Before she knew it, the tactical blade at his waist was held to her throat. "I have a name," he snarled.

"So what is it?"

His hand faltered, and there was a lost, almost horror-stricken cast to his features. _He didn't know it._

Pushing his hand away from her with a light touch, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Fine," she said in soft, careful tones. "Keep your secret. I have no need of it. I will call you Comrade if I must. Or Captain."

"Uh." He shuddered at that, and she could feel the tremor in his flesh and blood arm. "Uh."

Smiling conspiratorially at him, Natalia leaned in again. "Captain," she whispered in his ear. "It will be quite wonderful to work with you."

When she pulled back, there was definitely longing in his gaze. Whether it was for the memories that their superiors clearly erased, or a hunger for her touch, she didn't know. Or care, really. They would both do their parts, and enemies of the state would be eliminated without mercy, just as they deserved.

They were both monstrous killers, but she was the only one with a truly human looking mask.

***

Vera Shevchenka had blonde hair, vivid green eyes and very generous curves. She was new to Moscow and the science community there, but had been very close to those in the countryside making great strides in ballistic weapons. She had trained with them for years, even if it wasn't wholly formally, and was sent as an emissary of sorts to discuss matters with the Defense Department and select FSB members.

"They will be quite the thing," she assured the Minister of Defense. "High caliber bullets, thin jackets to limit how much friction there is in the barrel. Speed will remain, giving our snipers a much better distance."

"You're very knowledgeable," the Minister told her, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

"I have spoken with guardsmen to get their needs met as closely as possible. Are there perhaps compatriots of yours that have need of specific ballistics properties?"

The Minister leered at her. "I believe I can think of a place to meet."

Vera smiled as if she had no idea what his intentions were. "I would like that."

"No time like the present to start."

Her smile was sweet, though her eyes remained cold and calculating. "Of course."

The Minister led her from the introductory ball, his hand too low on her back. She went with him, aware that he was leading her to a silent, deserted part of the complex. He was only too glad to boast of his accomplishments, of the officers he felt were alike in his cause. It was a much longer list than she thought it would be.

"It's so difficult for you to remember them all, isn't it?" she asked him.

Only too pleased to show off, the Minister laughed. "Oh, no. I know them all, and there are ways to keep in contact with them."

"So clever," Vera simpered at him. "Should we have a meeting? So I can best learn how to adjust the weapons category."

"Do we really need to involve the others?" he asked, trailing fingers down her arm.

Vera laughed. "For a formal meeting, yes. After all, we all have a job to do, Minister."

He pouted at her playfully. "But my dear, there are other meetings we'll have to have..."

She gave him a flirtatiously arch look. "Oh?"

"To best do your job, my dear."

"Don't worry about that, Minister," she said sweetly. "I would not have been sent to meet with you if I was not capable of it."

Enamored, the Minister promised to set up a meeting.

***

The Minister was as good as his word in exchange for the promise of a private meeting with Vera. She laughed and smiled and simpered, flattered to be noticed by one so high up in the government, the lure of power enough to draw her attention despite the aging body.

Inside of Vera's thin veneer, Natalia seethed. She had a number of names, and the Asset was busy slaughtering all the ones that hadn't come to the meeting that the Minister of Defense called. He would return soon enough, and the entire meeting hall would be destroyed, taking the hidden enemies of the state to their graves. They couldn't allow a single one of them to survive, especially with their positions of power within the government and FSB; for capitalist tendencies to taint those so high up in the chain of command was a deadly and dangerous issue.

It didn't even matter what was said during the meeting, the innocuous compliments as they all congratulated each other on their powerful friendships, on the requests they could make of an arms manufacturer. Not one of them looked past her pretty face, not one of them questioned why she would be the emissary of the manufacturer and research staff. They were too busy ogling her tight clothing, the pretty blonde hair, the vivid green eyes.

And when the Asset arrived with his firebombs, every single one of them burned.

Bezukov would be pleased, but the pair had to wait until extracted by very specific personnel; he hadn't been sure if the Minister was the only highly placed target or not. They would have to confirm the kills as well as the fact that they had gotten the entire knot of traitors.

Sitting in the hotel room that Vera had booked, Natalia looked at the Winter Soldier. "Captain," she murmured.

He reacted to the title badly, startling and bringing a knife to hand. She stayed very still, eyes open and clear, no change in her expression. She would not show fear, she would not admit to any weakness. There would be no complaints going back to Bezukov.

"I'm not a captain," he said, a fine tremor in his knife hand. That wasn't a good sign at all.

"Then what rank do you carry?"

"Sergeant."

She frowned at him, and eyed his black combat gear. There was no color anywhere; all the straps and buckles and weapons were flat matte black, and he carried none of the usual insignia colors and symbols on his uniform. While it might make sense for him not to wear it in the field, she had never seen any indication that he held that rank.

"Do you prefer I call you that?"

The Winter Soldier put the knife away, the tremor still in his hand. "I have no preference."

Was it his programming breaking down? Some old memories seeping through?

Natalia approached him slowly, hands above her waist, open and loose. "I think you do. I think there is still something human, even if they tried to scrape it clean. Even though they tried to put in overlays or erase what they didn't want, something remains. Some of those lost yesterdays are still in there, even if it is a mere echo."

Something in his expression hardened, so she stopped her approach. "Am I wrong?"

"You are," he growled.

"Then, my apologies, Sergeant."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't go by that title anymore. I am not that man anymore."

Edging closer, Natalia touched his arm. He didn't react, and his gaze was somewhere behind her, remembering something she would never know. "Then what kind of man are you now?"

"I am not. I am. They call me the Asset," he said in a halting voice.

"We can be anyone or anything because of the training they had given us," Natalia pointed out gently. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

"I am not," he repeated, voice hard and angry. _"I am not."_

She tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at her and bend down a little. She placed a soft kiss on his lips, a brushing of skin and the faint whisper of desire. There was more to him than perhaps he even knew, and she would find it and manipulate it.

"I think you are still a man," she murmured, lips curling into a smile.

"You should fear me," he replied in a raspy voice.

"I was always good at ignoring my fears," she answered.

Their next kiss was firmer, and Natalia licked at the seam of his lips. He was uncertain, too unsure of himself and his unsteady memories. She was used to that, having had overlays placed into her mind. Perhaps things were taken out at the same time, more than just organs she would never need. It would remove the threat of becoming a burden on the system, of abandoning her purpose to be yet another mother.

"This is not a good idea for you, little Natalia."

Laughing a little, she shook her head. "You forget, I am still Vera. Until they give the directive that I am not to be, that is who I am."

He looked so sad and upset on her behalf. Who had he been before the Winter Soldier?

Natalia slid her hand across his cheek in a gentle caress, gaze soft and sweet. There was the barest of responses to her touch, making her think that once upon a time, he had been a good man. He had been a better soldier, though, and that was how the department had sunk its hooks into him, erasing him and keeping him as the Winter Soldier. Perhaps they told him it was an act of patriotism and sacrifice. Perhaps they told him he would protect his family, and all the other families of the Russian Federation.

Rising onto her tip toes, she gave him another soft kiss. "If I am Vera still, then you can be someone other than the Sergeant," she murmured against his lips. His hands tightened around her, both of them, but she didn't feel any danger from the metal arm. He was careful with her, and wasn't interested in hurting her. Good.

It was too soon to tip things further into the physical arena, not when he seemed so skittish and wary of her. This would be a long game, anyway.

When he pulled back, he cradled her face with his metal hand. Natalia looked at him, eyes clear and no trace of fear at all.

"You are not Vera, and I would never kiss her."

She wanted to laugh, but didn't. Instead, she merely smiled. "Then I will be Natalia for you and only for you."

He cupped her face in both hands and then kissed her, hungrily, desperately, a drowning man in search of air. She would be his anchor to humanity, and all she had to do was build on the tie between them without falling for it herself.

Simple for a Black Widow.

Their pasts might have been lost, but there was always the possibility of a different future.

The End


End file.
